


Second Chances

by Red



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Bicycles, Bullying, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Childhood Friends, Cisgender POV, Ejaculate, Emotional Constipation, Fingerfucking, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Mutant Rights, Oral Sex, Porn Watching, Sex Positive, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Telepathy, Time Skips, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Transphobia, Transporn, X-Men First Class Kink Meme, chess always leads to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kink meme prompt requesting a XMFC story based off of the 1996 film <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Different_for_Girls">Different for Girls</a>, but with an FTM Charles and Erik playing the Prentice role. You don't need to have seen it, but the plot owes a lot to the movie. </p><p>In a modern AU where mutants are still treated as second-class citizens, Erik once found himself an unlikely friend at a state-run boarding school. When Frances went off to college early, he felt abandoned and figured he'd never meet her again. Fifteen years (and almost three thousand miles) later, Erik runs into an oddly familiar man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt on the XMFC Kink Meme can be found [here](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7736.html?thread=14611256), and reads in part: "Charles as Kim, except FTM instead of MTF, and Erik as Prentice (though where Prentice is straight, Erik is gay). Bonus points for hot sexytiems that starts with Erik slowly discovering all the curves and planes of Charles's body and just being turned on by the fact that it's Charles and wondering at his gorgeous maleness." 
> 
> Thanks to Synecdoche for the prompt! For those interested, _Different for Girls_ is available both on a certain popular streaming video site, as well as from a major rental company that can, you know, send you it for free through your X-Box or whatever if you're already paying for that subscription.
> 
> Love to Shipwreck Light and Nagasasu for the editing job!

Erik Lensherr was a complete and utter ass.

Worse, he thought, angling his bike between a cab and a delivery truck.

He was worse than an ass.

 

_"I'll just go, then--"_

_"Charles, wait. Please. I didn't mean--"_

_"What you meant? You think I'm going to read your mind, after something like that? What you meant is immaterial. God, Erik."_

_He'd always remember the frustrated way Charles had yanked back on his corduroy jacket, the way he looked back before leaving._

_"You really can be a complete arse."_

 

The blaring of a sedan's horn pulled him out of the memory. Swerving his motorcycle, he gave the sedan a subtle nudge--just enough to keep from getting sideswiped. At this point, it was mostly his powers keeping him from killing himself on the way to Charles's work.

That, and the fact that he couldn't die before Charles heard his apology. There was no way Charles was going through life thinking Erik was as awful as all that.

He swerved around to pull through an alley, one of the shortcuts he'd found to bypass the lunch-time traffic.

Charles might not even be at work today. Naturally, Erik had stopped by the apartment, first, only to find Charles's sister. The sister who'd already been eyeing him with suspicion the minute he showed up again in Charles's life; the one to whom, Erik had once intelligently said, "Charles was an only child." She had glared at him for a full minute before replying that he should "know the difference between family and sperm donation by now," before Charles had come back in the room to save Erik. 

Seeing her on the other end of the door today, glowering in a t-shirt that proclaimed _Mutant, Queer, and Proud_ , hadn't exactly boded well for his health. He got away with a warning--"Charles isn't here, and if you continue stalking him I will find out"--and he raced to try Charles's job, out on the other end of town. 

Raven would find out. Possibly, she would skin him. He couldn't find it in him to care.

Erik had gone nearly thirty years without once feeling as if he owed anyone an apology. Now, as he squeezed the bike between the alley wall and a heap of garbage cans, he could only think one thing.

He'd let Raven kill him, painfully as she liked, if he could only tell Charles he was sorry first.

 

The whole thing had started out a month ago, when some jerk of a cab driver ran him off road and against a bike rack. That alone would have been fine--worse happened on his commutes more often than Erik cared to admit--save for the fact that he accidentally welded the only bicycle on the rack _into_ the steel frame when he'd been forced off-road. And he was still cussing out the cab driver when the bicycle's owner arrived.

Still, rallying against he superiority complex of car owners was one of Erik's favorite hobbies. Though he felt somewhat guilty for fusing the bike to another piece of metal, he had imagined a bicyclist would share his general distaste for automobiles. Still arguing, he tried to involve the owner, and at least get the bicyclist annoyed enough about the state of his Raleigh to file his own complaint against the cabby.

But the bicyclist, who at first glance seemed just another one of those bookish-looking hipster kids, had been annoyingly sedate about the entire situation. The cab driver began to storm off, and when Erik had turned back to talk sense into bicyclist, he realized two things.

One, the guy was just standing there, raising an eyebrow at Erik. Obviously, knew the sudden fusion of bike-to-rack was entirely reversible, and entirely Erik's doing.

And second, the reason he knew Erik's powers was...

"I know you," he had said then, and the bicyclist shook his head and gestured at the bike.

"You're mistaken," he'd said. Even the hint of an accent was familiar. "Please, if you would. I'll be late as it stands."

Public displays of powers were still often frowned upon, but Erik waved his hand, neatly separating the chromoly steel from the crude metal of the bike rack. The bicyclist grabbed the lock and went to straddle the frame.

"I don't believe I'm mistaken.” He knew this guy, it wasn't his fault he couldn't quite place the name. Erik hadn't ever forgotten a face, and there was something so _familiar_ about those eyes.

"Well," the bicyclist had said before pedaling off, "I suppose we're at an impasse, then."

By the time Erik had figured out who the Raleigh's owner was, he--she, his stunned mind supplied--was already gone. He made a note of where he was--outside the only grocery in the mutant-friendly end of town--before getting back up on his motorcycle.

Frances.

Frances Xavier.

Saying this all started a month ago was far from accurate. It'd actually been fifteen years, give or take.

 

In the last twisting roads before the block of shops where Charles worked, Erik glanced at his watch and sped up. Raven would gut him if she knew he'd already figured this out, but he'd learned quickly that Charles took his lunch at the same time every day. If he could help it, Erik wanted to catch Charles right as he got off the clock.

Erik didn't trust in fate, and while he might keep kosher, he hadn't ever been a believer.

It was mere chance that he ran into Charles again in the first place.

Charles was the most remarkable man Erik had ever met. Always had been, Erik had realized, and he wasn't about to lose him again.

He wasn't about to wait another fifteen years, either.

 

_From the minute he'd entered the door, he'd hated the place._

_Albany Mutant Academy, it was called. More like Albany Mutant Confinement Center, as he would complain._

_At the gates, his mom had given him a crushing hug and extracted promises--eat right, wear a scarf, wash behind your ears. He'd brushed her off with a scowl then, but soon enough he would learn how much more he had than many of his fellow students. Years later, he would still wonder how she managed to find the money for her return ticket home._

_The entire halting ride, he had been entranced with the feel of the aging rails beneath the Amtrak they'd taken out from Chicago. His mom fussed over him, and he was often embarrassed to be seen in public with her. But, she never was frightened of his powers._

_Pity the government didn't feel the same way._

_Places like this "academy" were seen as a necessity to ensure public safety, though all the paperwork they'd sent his mom went on endlessly about the enriching and safe environment for mutant youth. Later, he'd realize how terrifying it was to his mother, after what his grandparents had survived. But right then, Erik was a gawky thirteen-year-old who'd grown up in relative safety. He was annoyed by the move, and anxious about the new school. He hadn't gotten along with the kids at his old one. He didn't imagine he'd get on any better with the kids with which he was about to be confined, sigma-class mutants or not._

_And of course, he was right._

_Mostly._

Three weeks ago, he'd dug through the bottom drawer of the old filing cabinet he had modified to use as a dresser. It was mostly papers and old books and childhood photos his mom had arbitrarily deemed important enough to ship to him when he'd moved out here a few years back. And, sure enough, it was still buried in there.

He had shaken the photos out of the manilla envelope, sorted them by date.

Albany Mutant Academy, 1994  
Albany Mutant Academy, 1995  
Albany Mutant Academy, 1996

He was there for one more year, but the photo for '97 he'd tossed aside. In 1994, he stood solemnly in the back row--he'd had an early growth spurt, and was assigned to the back with a few upperclassmen. He tracked down the photo to see her, cross-legged in the front. They were in uniform. She was looking away from the camera, skirt pleated neatly over her knees.

She--he--was twelve. Erik wondered if, even then, Charles was desperate for change.

It hadn't been long after the photo that they had met.

 

_"Please do tell me you're not about to check out that book."_

_Queen Frances, everyone called her. She was short and, he supposed, a little pretty; but she'd been admitted to Albany the fall after returning from a few years in England, and everyone knew she came from money. In a school full of pre-teens, anything was fair game for bullying. A rich British kid was sure to get more than her share._

_Erik didn't have any opinion about her. He didn't bully her like the others, true, but he didn't make it a habit to talk to anyone at Albany. He was there because the government had sent him, not to make friends, or enemies. But being interrupted in the paltry hour window the students were allotted each month for visiting the public library? That was grounds for scaring her off._

_Turning, he frowned down at her. "What's it to you, Xavier?"_

_He had recently finished a streak of old detective novels, and had taken up the habit of referring to all the other students by last name. He'd probably have been more targeted for that, were he not given such a wide berth in the halls for being "scary."_

_"Well, Lensherr," she'd replied with a grin, not at all frightened. "I'd rather hoped to check it out again, myself."_

_"Tough luck, kid," he groused, putting it under his arm. He could go get another spy novel, but he'd wanted to try something new. He had turned then, going for the front desk._

_"Wait," she'd called out, and ran after him. "Erik, please."_

_"I'm checking this out, and that's--"_

_"And that's fine. I want you to read it. I've read it three times, and no one else has even heard of it," and Erik looked dubiously down at the tattered cover and second-guessed his choice._

_"Don't, you'll love it. Err, well. I hope you will," she'd added. "Just… Tell me, what's a good American detective novel, and I'll be out of your hair."_

 

In the photo from 1995, he's sitting by her. The skirt is obscured by the kids in the row in front of them. She's wearing one of his ties, and grinning right at the camera, her hair pulled back.

After that day in the library, he had supposed he wouldn't see much of her outside of class. He'd see her sometimes in the halls, nose buried in Chandler or Hammett, easily sidestepping other students despite the distraction.

Everyone also knew Frances was a telepath, the most powerful in the school; one of their classmates, a spotty blonde from Massachusetts, shared the mutation, but everyone heard stories about Frances breaking the testing computer or reading minds six states off. Just rumors, Erik thought. Maybe.

He finished the book in two weeks. Then he read it again.

And eventually, Erik realized how ridiculous the rest of the kids at Albany were. No one liked to sit by Frances or Emma. But Erik figured no matter how far you sat from either of them, they could probably destroy your mind any time they wanted. One day in chemistry he plunked down at the end of the long "telepaths only" table in the back of the room. Frances blinked up at him.

"So, Xavier," he'd said. "Have you read _Le Morte d'Arthur_ , too?"

 

He knew now, that Charles also enjoyed those times they had together in the dorms. They'd sneak out to the rooftop, giddy with their powers--Frances keeping everyone asleep, Erik pulling rafters into a staircase--and stay up for hours talking about anything.

Erik hadn't been looking for a friend. But Frances was brilliant and opinionated and had already read all of Sherlock Holmes by the time she was eight, and she could play chess nearly as well as Erik's grandfather. 

If Erik was stuck in Albany anyway, he might as well have someone to be miserable with.

So when he'd realized it was Frances out there with the bike--no matter how different she looked--he knew he had to find out what had happened over all those years they'd spent apart.

 

_"Here comes Sharky and the Queen, ooh--"_

_The lockers screeched with the sudden weight of a student being shoved through them._

_"Shut it," he'd growled, and Frances pulled on his arm._

_"Leave him, Erik," she hissed. "Be the better man."_

_"Listen to the girl, Lensherr, otherwise she won't spread 'em"..._

 

Knowing what he did, Erik shook his head against those memories. He pulled aside the last photo.

Frances was smirking, standing right by him; she'd cut her hair short that year. Erik was sixteen, nearly as tall as he is now, and his grin was all teeth.

He'd thought it was them against the world, back then.

The next year, Frances's graduation was advanced. She had passed some tests, and could skip enough grades to immediately run off to university.

They wrote briefly, but Erik had soon let the letters die out. He had felt betrayed, and he didn't hesitate to cut off the relationship completely.

He hadn't realized how difficult it all must have been for Charles.

 

_He climbed around the awnings to smuggle himself into the girl's ward, and crawled through Frances's window._

_"Hey, Xavier," he whispered. Her back was turned to him. Her roommate--Emma--was snoring. "Frances--"_

_::Go away::, he heard. She drew the blankets up over her head._

_"You aren't seriously listening to something Essex said, are you? That guy's a total shit," Erik complained, voice low. He sat on the edge of her bed._

_Still, she didn't move._

_"Look, I don't think of you like that at all," he said, "you're just... You. I mean, you know." He trailed off, at a loss from her silence. "You're just one of the guys, okay?"_

_It wasn't quite true. Erik didn't have other friends, male or not, for Frances to be "one of."_

_Besides, even then, he knew what gender he usually thought of "like that."_

_"I know you don't, Erik," she'd said. It was half-muffled. "And I am very sorry."_

_For what, he wondered. But right then he sensed the approach of one of the night watchmen from his keys, and muttered a rushed goodbye._

 

It wasn't long after that--a few months, maybe--that she'd chopped off all her hair.

"Gets in the way of the microscope," she had told him, laughing when he startled, seeing her the first time down in the lab. "You like it?"

He had swallowed, nervously. "It's okay."

She'd smirked. "Thought you said I was just one of the guys." And that was the problem.

By the time he was fourteen, Erik had mostly figured _that_ out. It helped being well-read, helped having a friend like Xavier who wouldn't blush to, say, talk frankly about the homoerotic aspects of Mishima's works. Frances had already confused matters, already made him half-mad with how he'd find himself sneaking off to her room rather than the park he'd heard was known for that sort of thing.

Seeing her with short hair...

"If you hate it, Erik, I honestly don't care. Say what you like," she had said, going back to write in the lab book.

"I'm not a fashion critic," he'd said, and pulled his own goggles and notebook out of his bag.

But of course, not all of their classmates would share the opinion.

 

Erik shook the envelope again, found the disciplinary slip from that night. It wasn't something he could ever forget.

 

_He was in the bathroom brushing his teeth when he heard it._

_By accident or design, all the walls in the academy were paper-thin. The division between the boys' bathroom and the girls' showers was no exception, and he could easily tell someone was in the shower over there, and when the water went off. There were a few moments of silence._

_And then, through the wall, the shouting was distinct._

_"There she is, fucking dyke. Still using this bathroom, are you?"_

_Erik dropped his toothbrush._

_"--keep seeing her eye me, what a creep--"_

_"--let's fucking show her what--"_

_He was out of the boys' bathroom and in the girls' before he knew he was running; using his powers unthinkingly to whip pipes through the tile to form a barrier between Frances and the other students._

_There was seven of them. Two boys, five girls. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Xavier sitting on the tiled floor of the changing room, one cheek bruising up. She was almost nude._

_He shook with rage, held the students captive by zippers, buttons, by the grommets in their shoes. He'd find out who hurt her, he'd see them bleed--_

_"Big brave Erik, coming to save his lesbo girlfriend."_

_"Why are you even trying," one of the girls asked, "you're really not her type, and she can't be yours. Look at her."_

_"Fuck off," Erik said, clenching her necklace around her throat._

_"Maybe he gets off on it. You in the closet, Erik? Pretending she's--"_

_He was about to throw a few punches--wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last--when suddenly everyone was asleep, slumping against his hold._

_Stunned, he let them drop._

_"Frances, are you--"_

_"Leave me alone," she said, pulling urgently at the bandages around her chest, smoothing them out._

_"For fuck's sake. You're hurt, just--"_

_"I said leave me." She pulled an undershirt over the bandages, did up her pants. "I'm not your bloody girl, Lensherr. I can damn well take care of myself."_

_"Yeah," he said, still clenching his fists. "But, you never do. You're always pulling this 'better man' bullshit."_

_"Fix those pipes," she said. He winced at her tone. She sounded weary, far older than fifteen. "And get out. You're in the wrong sodding bathroom."_

 

He never got the pipes quite back to rights, and the room below wound up getting flooded. The students woke without remembering much of anything, though, so Erik got by with a disciplinary warning for the structural damage.

The night had other ramifications. Rumor spread quickly that Erik was gay, and everyone gave Frances an even wider-than-normal berth.

They would have one stuttering conversation about sexuality before she left--she'd said she didn't think she was a lesbian, because she still liked blokes a good deal--and she'd smiled and squeezed his hand when he admitted he liked them, too. It was the first time he came out to anyone.

It occurred to him then, in his studio apartment, that he had never even considered what the bandages around Charles's chest meant. He'd never paid too much attention to women, and though he thought it was unusual back then that Xavier would flatten her breasts, he had also thought it was just a _thing_. A scientist thing, or a European thing, or a nerd thing. Frances had always seemed an anomaly just for being friends with him in the first place. Anything else she did was therefore more-or-less unsurprising.

Frances liked playing go and hated artificial orange flavor. She had her own little Tripod site about chess with hideously broken coding, and she had only _read_ about latkes. So she used ace bandages as bras, big whoop, he'd thought. Wasn't like she didn't think he was weird, too. Being normal was a bit academic, once you were already a mutant.

But when he'd seen her--him--outside that grocery, it felt like so much from those three years had suddenly clicked into place.

 

It wasn't difficult to track Frances down again. There were only so many Raleigh bicycles with a hint of bike rack mixed into the composition of the frame, even in Portland. He found the bicycle again, easy enough, locked up outside a row of shops.

Cafe, book store, cafe, and a sign.

_Genetic Counseling: Take Stairs_

It seemed likely enough, so he had shirked off the rest of the day's courier work and sat in one of the coffee shops, watching the bike and waiting.

Three hours later, he saw Charles. He wanted to blame the three espressos for what came next, but he knew well enough to blame the fact that--suave as he might be usually, wherever Charles was concerned, Erik was sure to get his foot in his mouth.

He'd ran out, holding the lock of the bike steady. Xavier had turned, brows raised.

"Can I help--"

"Frances," Erik interrupted. "Frances Xavier, you remember--"

"Charles," Xavier said.

Erik frowned. "No, I'm Erik--Erik Lensherr, from Albany--we…"

"No, no," he'd said, laughing. " _I'm_ Charles."

Stopping, Erik let his hold on the metal slack. "But, I thought--"

"Bit complicated, I'll admit. Of course I remember you, Erik. I've just… Had a few changes. Seeing you this morning was a surprise."

"I wouldn't disagree with that," Erik replied. He hadn't been sure of what else to say.

Charles looked so different. His hair was longer than when he'd left Albany. He was heavily freckled, as if he were out on his bike often, and his was stubble faintly ginger.

Erik hadn't been certain if he should be confused about his sexuality or not, but imagined Xavier had probably found himself a girlfriend by now.

"You're thinking too much, Erik," Charles had said. "Can I have the lock back?"

"Only if you promise to go out with me next Tuesday."

It hadn't been what Erik had intended to say. Later, he'd give his sex drive a good sit-down and remind it that the right thing to say would have been, "of course," or "it was nice seeing you again, sorry for being a creep."

"It's been fifteen years, Charles. I'd be interested to hear what you've been up to," he'd added, when Charles just blinked at him.

"Well. I suppose it has, at that." And Charles smiled at him again.

"Next Tuesday it is."

"Consider it a date." Erik privately cursed himself. "Actually, don't. I meant--"

"I know what you meant, Erik," Charles laughed. And he promised to take the bus out to work, come next Tuesday, and meet Erik after.

Erik hadn't been sure quite what to expect. The rest of the week had been exceptionally busy--some new breakthrough at a biotech company--and even with his occasional tendency to stalk old schoolmates rather than complete his work assignments, Erik was still one of the most sought-after couriers in the city. There wasn't much call for couriers now, when most things could be just as easily scanned and emailed, but when you needed a few vials of blood to be sped over on ice to your auxiliary lab there wasn't anything quite like a motorcyclist who could control metal. Ultimately, with all the runs he found himself on--and, of course, with all the beers he'd had to get with Portland's other star courier, Azazel--he never quite got around to doing the sensible thing and typing the word "transgender" into Google.

The week had passed before he knew it, in a blur of angry drivers, the beautiful pull of his bike beneath his body, and the drunken arguments he and Azazel and Janos would happily get into with homo- and mutantphobic assholes. And suddenly he was back at the coffee shop under Charles's work, completely out of his element.

"Hullo," Charles had greeted. He'd looked rather stunning, in that lost-professor hipster sort of way. To cover his awkwardness, Erik tossed him the spare helmet.

"Where to?”

 

The night, amazingly, did not turn out to be a complete disaster. 

(No, Erik thought, pulling up in the parking lot of a bank near Charles's work--trying to hide his stalking, this would really get him murdered by Raven--he'd save that all up for that _actual_ date they just had last night.)

But on that Tuesday, he and Charles had gone to one of Charles's favorite bars. It was warm, there was decent beer on tap, and the bartender was pleasantly attentive. Erik had looked around for a bit, feeling shy around Charles. He had wondered if he'd ever been here before. It was obviously mutant-friendly, their bartender easy-going and comfortably showing a sleek tail and gracefully curving horns. Likely not, then. When Erik and Azazel went out, they wanted a good fight.

"So, how's the courier business?" Charles had eventually asked.

"Fine," Erik had said. Quickly, he added that he did well enough by it, that it was good excuse to use his mutation on the job. Save for the three years he'd spent talking books with the person now sitting across the table from him, Erik had never been a stunning conversationalist.

"That's brilliant. Been at it long?"

And it had been easy to start talking again, telling Charles of what he'd been up to since Albany—Erik hadn't been able to afford college, at least not right off, and his mom had needed help with grandfather by the time he could--and his life out here, since. He talked briefly of what he'd been reading, of the progressiveness of the mutant community out West, of how rusty his chess game must be by now. 

And it wasn't until they were well through their third round that he finally changed the conversation to Charles.

"How long have you been like this?"

"Like what?" Charles had cheerfully asked, and took another sip of his whiskey. "A bloke? Certainly as long as you've known me, but I suppose I wasn't sure until that last year. Or you mean, how long have I been living as a man?"

Erik had cleared his throat before deciding to hide his uncertainty by drinking. "Well, the latter. How long have you been going by Charles? And why Charles?"

"About five years. I changed my name legally about then, but I'd been going by Frank in college," and Charles had laughed at Erik's wince. "Yes. Not really me at all. I came up with Charles later, but I can't rightly remember how. Watched a bit too much _Citizen Kane_ that year or something, God knows," he had said, shrugging. "It'll just have to remain one of the world's great mysteries."

"It suits you," he offered, before reconsidering. “Sorry for the stupid question. Why 'Erik,' after all."

Charles had smiled then, and tipped back his drink. “Come on, I'll get the next round. Chin chin--"

From there, Charles told him so much as they drank. He heard about how Charles had kept the Frances--Charles Francis Xavier--because the mutant registry had archaically strict name change regulations; how he'd got into his job in genetic counseling ("got tired of the lab all day, and there are almost no mutants in the field"); that he'd just had his appendix out ten years ago, but otherwise no, and it wasn't polite to ask; how long he'd been taking hormones.

"So, six years--"

"Well, five and three quarters, really."

"And you feel all right?"

"Oh, my friend," Charles had said, patting his knee as he unsteadily rose for the bathroom. "I've never been better.”

 

They wound up getting far more inebriated than either had intended. Luckily, Charles lived close to the pub, so they had started out in an attempt to walk it off.

The cold night air should have sobered them up. But instead, Erik had found himself with his arm wrapped around Charles's shoulders, with Charles's arm looped comfortably around his waist. They leaned on each other through the blocks, catching each other as they stumbled up the stairs to Charles's place.

"You'll take the bus," Charles said. It wasn't a question, and Erik grinned.

"Of course," he said. "I've only just found you again."

Charles had leaned in close. Angling his head down a bit, Erik drunkenly basked in Charles's projected happiness.

"Yes," Charles had whispered, reaching up to grab at Erik's leather jacket and pull him down, "And we have so much more to catch up on, my--"

A light came on in the apartment. Erik had seen it out of the corner of his eye, and dismissed it--so Charles had a roommate, most mutants their age did--but Charles pushed him away.

"Ahem. Well--" he had looked distant, like he was communicating with the person inside. "Well. It's been a lovely night, Erik."

"Yeah." Erik had stepped back, looking out over the landing. "Hey, I don't suppose--"

"Love to. Here," Charles had thought his cell number at him, firmly enough for it to stick, even with alcohol muddling his brain. It would have been disarming, had they not used the same trick to study for midterms, years ago. "Now, you should get going, she'll kill me."

Ah, the girlfriend, Erik had thought. He tried to ignore the sharp wave of disappointment.

::No, it's not that at all. My sister. You'll meet her, don't worry, she's just a touch over-protective.::

Now, he knew that he should have been more worried about meeting that sister. But then, he'd just nodded, and taken off down the stairs, and before he'd found the bus stop he'd realized he was close enough to Janos's place to walk the mile or so to crash on his couch.

And he tried not to obsess about all that had happened that night.

 

They saw each other again that Friday. And again the next--Charles had sworn off of drinking with him weekday nights, "I was puking at work that morning, I'll have you know"--and Erik brought his portable magnetic chess set by the coffee shop. He met Raven, and even began to get on with her in the last week. He also met Hank, one of Charles's coworkers, who was awkward and not at all the sort of person Erik would usually have a drink with, but it was good to know Charles was able to work beside mutants, too.

He started reading more, to hold his own on their weekend conversations. He started looking for decent, mutant-friendly pubs; he stopped picking as _many_ fights, to avoid the look Charles had when he saw the bruises.

The near-kiss moment on Charles's doorstep was never duplicated. They sat close by the fire at Charles's pub. They walked in the park. They shared books. They laughed about all the things the administrators never realized they'd got up to back at Albany, traded stories about what happened to the mutants in those old photos. Charles had kept in touch with Emma, and one day emailed Erik a picture of the two together, from when Charles had last gone to Los Angeles to visit her. Erik wasn't sure what the other students had got up to in the last decade and a half, but of anyone he knew, Emma had obviously undergone the most shocking transformation--ugly duckling syndrome, indeed--and he told Charles as much.

And it wasn't long before Erik realized how obviously they were dating.

 

Erik was used to things being difficult. He'd been forced from his own home at thirteen. He'd shelved those childish dreams he'd shared with Xavier at Albany, years ago--how passionately he loved the mutant rights movement, how he dreamed of going to college and helping shape a new generation. He was used to the world looking down on him for everything he was.

He was not a man prone to having what he was, now, with Charles. He laid in bed awake for hours, trying to figure out exactly what it was he felt, because it was so completely out of his usual experience.

Contentment wasn't quite the word. Charles was still idealistic enough to make Erik more than occasionally furious, despite the passage of time. But he was spending more and more nights with Charles every week, and even Erik had to admit this was easily the best month he'd had in years.

Which was exactly why it couldn't last.

 

"The minute you find yourself happy, Erik Magnus Lensherr, you go and find a way to be sure you're not," as Mom always said. His track record with relationships--paltry as it was, and basically half of those conversations with Mom wound up back on the subject of How Happy Jason Wyngarde Looks These Days--was evidence enough of that, even without Edie Lensherr's monthly lectures.

Walking up to the coffee shop, he checked his cell phone again, and considered his options.

 

When they were kids, Charles had a certain trick Erik had always admired as being amazingly practical. Any time they'd wanted to avoid someone--a night watchman, a teacher, one of their more ogreish classmates--Charles would just freeze them, easy as anything, and they could sneak by.

Erik's wouldn't take that chance. Charles was powerful enough by now to wipe Erik's memory completely, or at least place him in a time loop. It wasn't guaranteed Erik would avoid that if he waited by the stairs, but he hoped Charles would find it more conspicuous to freeze Erik immediately in front of his job.

But after what he did last night, Erik couldn't say he didn't deserve it.

 

They had dinner together last night, and--as was quickly becoming custom--they left the restaurant still arguing. It was a pleasant enough debate, about how beneficial a mutant-governed country would be for everyone--though Charles disagreed, saying what Erik now considered typical Charles-nonsense about all that mutants and genotypical people still had yet to learn from one another, and how separatism would only breed ignorance and contempt--and Erik knew he was winning. For that reason alone, he told himself, he asked Charles to his apartment.

"Come on, it's only a fifteen minute ride," he'd coaxed. "I've barely had a drop." He'd been caught up in the hurried cadence of Charles's voice as he'd preached about the wonders of mutant integration, in the unconsciously graceful motions of his hands as he gestured. Ultimately, the sole beer Erik ordered had barely been finished by the meal's end.

Charles smiled. "I noticed. You did seem a little distracted tonight," and Erik was about to invent an excuse about how he'd just been put off by Charles's naivete, but Charles was already straddling the back of the bike and patting at Erik's seat. "Come along, then. I'm rather looking forward to destroying you with that lovely antique chess set you were always dreaming about in Albany."

"Precognition's never been your strong point, Charles," he'd said, and sidled in front of Charles on the bike. Immediately, he had felt Charles's body up against his back, arms twining comfortably around his waist. Erik glanced down, glad for the fact his helmet mostly hid his expression.

He'd given Charles a few rides before last night. But that was the first time he'd really noticed how tight Charles pressed against him, how warm Charles was. How absurd it looked for someone in a corduroy blazer to be hugging him around the middle, the contrast from Charles's arms and Erik's leathers.

He'd have to get Charles a jacket. Revving the engine, he had thought _I really hope he didn't hear that. What am I thinking?_

He couldn't tell if the sudden tightening of Charles's arms was from the thought, or from the sudden motion of the bike pulling in to traffic.

 

It had been the first time Charles was up in the apartment. Erik's studio was small, not entirely in repair, and a few steps beyond the spartan side. The only furniture aside from his bed were only there because he enjoyed the ferric sense of them--filing cabinets, an old metal desk, a solitary office chair--and his decorating was limited to an extended map of the city he'd put up some time before he had become habituated to the routes and shortcuts of his job.

Regardless, Charles was charmed. Mainly, Erik noted, by the now-massive stacks of books Erik had accumulated, but Charles had always been curious about Erik's mutation. Likely, he could sense Erik's fondness for the ancient fire hazard of a fan he'd dug up from behind a gutted office, or for the ordinary seeming stone he'd found, laden with rare-earth metals. Charles had slid off his jacket and accepted a drink, and looked cheerfully enthusiastic about everything.

"And this must be the set," Charles had said, lifting one of the wooden pieces from where Erik kept it, on the top of the bookshelf. "Your grandfather's, correct?"

"Which is exactly why," Erik had replied, pulling the rest of the set down, "You're about to beg for mercy."

He didn't need to tell Charles about his grandfather's genius for the game; Charles had already heard more than enough about that at Albany. Grinning, Charles had settled in on the foot of Erik's bed--the only place he had with enough space to set up a game--and just said "You'll live to regret that cockiness, Lensherr."

Instead--despite the constant distractions of Charles biting his red lips when he got frustrated, or glancing up with those overly bright eyes, or how he'd rolled his shirtsleeves up and Erik now could see the relief of veins on his lightly-freckled forearms--he had neatly checkmated Charles.

Twice.

Charles had sighed, throwing up his hands, after second game.

"Best out of five isn't an option?" Erik had joked. Charles had groaned and flopped back on the mattress, melodramatically. 

"Erik, you're wounding me." He had been projecting happiness and contentment, though; and Erik leaned over the sprawl of chess pieces.

"Giving up so soon, when you promised to--what was it--'destroy me'. I expected so much more of you."

Laughing, Charles had reached out to grab at Erik's arm, to try and pull him off balance. "You could have waited till we'd kissed," he had said, "before getting me in bed and beating me senseless."

A joke--it was obviously a joke--Erik had thought, looking at Charles's mouth. He'd wanted to kiss him in that moment, badly.

 

Erik heard the door open, up above the stairwell. One-fifteen; if it's Charles, he's right on time.

 

He'd wanted to sweep aside the chess pieces, to pull Charles to the bed, to finally kiss him for that first time. But instead, when he instead pretended to lose his balance, slumping near Charles's side, he'd went and said it.

"Charles, you do realize that I'm gay?"

It hadn't even been close to what he'd meant. He'd meant _It's been years since I've done more than get on my knees in a strange apartment_ or _Now that I've got you here I'm terrified and have no clue what to do with you_. But that wasn't what he'd said, and when the brightness of Charles's projected happiness went dim, Erik knew he'd screwed it up.

"Yeah," Charles had replied, sitting up and pushing by Erik as he stood. He dragged a hand through his hair. "Yeah, think we went over that a few years back, thanks."

"I--" Erik had started, and he'd wished for even a tiny amount of Charles's abilities.

"It's fine, Erik. Pretty clear what you think is going on here," Charles said. He rolled down his shirtsleeves, retied his shoes, seemingly unflappable. Erik tried to think of something--anything--to say, and suddenly the calm Charles had gathered around him broke.

"Jesus Christ. 'Do I realize you're gay'--what the bloody hell did you think we were doing? Think I'm just playing dress-up? Trying to trick you out of your hard-won homosexuality? Erik, what _exactly_ do you think I am?"

By then, Charles had his jacket in hand. Flustered, Erik was still unable to say a word before Charles was turning to the door.

"I'm making a fool of myself. I'll just go, then--"

"Charles, wait," Erik said. 

By then, Charles was halfway out the door.

For a long time after Charles left the apartment, Erik just sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to ignore the feeling of Charles's keys growing steadily distant, to ignore the sick feeling of dread.

The chess pieces had been in disarray, the glass from Charles's drink still beaded with condensation. What could he do, Erik had wondered; what could he do to erase those six words.

He'd stayed up all night. He finally went through a few websites, trying to be less ignorant, but it didn't help. He could rip the St. John's Bridge from the foundations, reform it into the Fremont or Hawthorne. But he couldn't go back in time, and by the next morning, his only plan was this: to wait nervously for Charles to descend the stairs.

 

"Erik," Charles said.

It wasn't a greeting. Charles looked exhausted, muted in a bulky navy sweater and worn-out fingerless gloves.

"I need to apologize," Erik said quickly, before he lost his nerve. "I was being an ass, and I'm sorry."

There, he thought. Now he just had to say it a few more times.

But Charles looked away. "No, you were right. I thought we wanted the same thing. Obviously, I was mistaken."

"You weren't," Erik insisted. Someone else opened the door above them, started coming down the stairs with heavier-than-normal footfalls. "I might not agree with everything you say. I might not believe in your vision for some absurd mutant-baseline utopia. But I do want this," he continued, ignoring everything else but Charles. "Charles, I want you."

"Oh, I… Maybe I'll go have lunch up--"

"It's fine, Hank," Charles said, looking past Erik. Erik turned as well.

Hank started fidgeting with his glasses, taking them off his vaguely feline muzzle. "It's, uh, not really a bother."

Grunting in pain at the sudden elbowing Charles gave his ribs, Erik broke the stare. "Hank and I were about to have lunch together," Charles informed him. "If you'd like to come, Erik, you may."

"I don't want to interrupt," Hank offered, but Charles waved it away.

"We already have plans. I insist. Though if you'd rather Erik not come--”

"No, no," Hank said. He nervously glanced between them, and continued down the stairs. "That's just, uh. Great."

Lunch was painful, at least for Erik. Charles and Hank cheerfully went on about work, once they had their teriyaki and Hank was distracted from his previous fear of Erik's wrath. Erik, meanwhile, prodded at an order of yakisoba. He wasn't even vaguely hungry; he couldn't even imagine eating without knowing, without finishing that conversation with Charles.

 _I'm an idiot_ , he thought, staring dejectedly at his food. Charles and Hank carried on, speaking heatedly as they shoveled chicken and rice into their faces. _I want him by my side. But I'm not about to have that again_. He moved the noodles around with his chopsticks, thinking again, _What was I thinking._

::I suppose you weren't::, he heard. He glanced up, stunned, but neither Hank nor Charles paid him any mind.

::A little more subtlety, I think. We are in public, my friend,:: Charles sent, a hint of a smile in the thoughts.

 _I'm sorry for everything_ , Erik thought loudly. He'd learned a bit about how to project when they were kids, but he felt rusty with it now.

::No need to concentrate quite so hard, I can hear you. And I do hope you're not sorry for _everything_.::

He wasn't. Just for that--that one stupid comment. And anything else he probably said that was completely backwards, he added in his mind.

The thought that came back wasn't fully formed. It was something like a hum, a thought of consideration and hesitance.

 _Read my mind_ , he prodded. _You can see everything, can't you? How I see you?_

::No::, Charles thought. And his mind shut off as he talked to Hank. Erik went back to his food, uncertain of how to take Charles's answer. 

Eventually Hank got up to clear his and Charles's trays. A table of kids started to sneer at him, but one of them caught Erik glowering at the lot of them, and they wisely turned back to their food.

"Erik," Charles started, and Erik turned back to him. "I can't read your mind. Not for that."

"Why?"

The smile Charles gave him was rueful. "Imagine you've gone your whole life with your brain at odds with the rest of you. You've got a good idea of what you are up here," Charles said, waving at his temple, "but every time you look in the mirror, you're told something else."

This much, Erik had thought about. He nodded, and leaned closer to Charles.

"Then you've got everyone else around you. Sometimes, when you're going about, they say something that reminds you again: either your brain or your body, you've got a problem somewhere. And then imagine that it isn't merely when they talk. It's constant," Charles gestured at the other people in the restaurant, "an endless hall of mirrors, if you will."

Absently, Erik thanked the universe for wooden chopsticks. He clenched at them in his hand, feeling agitated and helpless. Charles reached over and put his own hand over Erik's.

"It's all right, Erik," he said.

"How can you--"

"Because if you think about it, it's probably the only way I learned how to shield at all," Charles said, "I was never very disciplined."

Erik looked away. Hank lingered awkwardly by a stack of trays, pretending to read the posters promoting shows and theater on the wall. "You weren't. Neither of us were," Erik admitted. "But I don't see how you can be so flippant."

"Because I have to be," Charles said. "And, more importantly, because it's my life to be flippant about. Erik, I'm not going to read your mind for this. I imagine I wouldn't be upset with what I saw, but you'll understand I might be unwilling to take the chance." He caught Erik's eyes again, and said, solemnly, "I'm through with mirrors."

Smirking, Erik dropped the chopsticks and turned his hand to grip Charles's. "You don't have to explain that to me," he said, "it's more than obvious enough from the sweater."

" _Hey-- _"__

"Sorry to interrupt again, but shouldn't we be getting back?"

Though he kept frowning at Erik, Charles pulled his hand back and agreed. Hank and Charles started getting ready to leave, and Erik started boxing up his leftovers.

::I'll get you back for that, I promise you,:: he heard.

 _I'd like to see you try._ After a moment, Erik hesitantly sent, _Charles, I don't deserve a second chance, but..._

::But you're getting one regardless. Tomorrow night, Raven's out of town,:: and Erik nearly stumbled as they walked down the sidewalk. Hank eyed the two of them suspiciously.

::Graceful:: Charles thought, smirking at him. ::And be on your best behavior. No more sweater jokes.::

 _I promise. Round eight?_ he asked, and didn't disguise his own happiness when he felt Charles's wordless agreement.

 _Then it's a date_ , he thought; and whether Charles wanted to read that much or not, this time he meant it.

He nodded goodbye to the pair of them, and walked back to his bike. 

He ran a few jobs that afternoon. Rushed through them, more precisely. Erik was glad for his existing reputation for being taciturn during deliveries, his mind constantly elsewhere, constantly waiting for tomorrow.

When he'd run through all the assignments and returned to his studio, he reheated the leftovers from lunch and ate out of the box, staring idly at the clock.

It was only six-thirty.

He tried to read, but nothing held his interest. He looked back at the clock constantly, as if it'd help any--he could very well advance the clock with his powers, but doing so was unlikely to convince Charles to come over tonight.

Why not tonight, he sulked to himself. He'd rarely had to wait for sex before. Even thinking they would tomorrow, was being optimistic. Hadn't they already been waiting fifteen years? Wasn't Charles feeling this as well, this urgency?

He messed around with a project he was working on--trying to influence the electromagnetic bonds on a bit of graphite--and wound up feeling even more restless. Eventually, he propped his laptop open on his bed and shucked off his clothes.

The porn he started watching was one with a couple he'd seen before. Amateur, poor camera work. Typical for the website, but the way the bottom moaned after being slapped, the way he'd beg for the top's cock--there was no faking that, and the top was visibly mutant besides. Erik jerked himself off, slowly, watching the visibly-mutant guy finger his boyfriend roughly.

Usually, it would have been more than enough to keep his attention. But as he pumped lube in his hand, stroking himself, he could only think of Charles.

His mind had gone there before. Often, in fact, in this month since he'd first had drinks with Charles.

But he still didn't know what to expect. He still didn't know if he should be trying to expect anything at all. He laid back, letting the porn play on for the noise, and raised up a knee to finger himself behind his balls.

Would Charles like this, want to do this to him? Erik circled his anus, pressing a finger in. He'd always liked being fucked, and academically he knew it was certainly something Charles _could_ do, but what if he didn't?

They would talk about it, Erik told himself. Like every other time he met a guy who usually bottoms, and he managed to talk his way into a cock up his ass. It wasn't as if Erik couldn't make a dildo from a lamp, after all, were a lack of strap-ons the problem.

He closed his eyes, thinking about it, absently fingering himself.

"Yes, had my appendix out. Why do you ask," Charles had said, that first night. What would he look like? He'd seen Charles's arm, his neck, his face, and that was all. It made it difficult to form a picture. He'd be lean, that was obvious. Biked around, so his legs were probably nicely muscled. Freckles, dark body hair.

After that, Erik's mind pulled up a blank. Breasts? Maybe Charles was still binding. Maybe not--maybe it was just layers, maybe whatever was left after five years of hormones was very small. It's not as if he'd know, not until--or, more accurately--unless…

He circled his cock with his spare hand. And then there was this. He tried to picture giving Charles a blowjob, tried to picture spreading his--labia? No, that wasn't right, either. Erik groaned in frustration. There wasn't even proper language for this.

The porn ended and looped. Erik twisted his head to watch again, but eventually gave in and just thought about Charles, arched over him; about Charles fucking him open, hand unyieldingly tight around Erik's cock as he pushed in his fingers.

On his laptop, the mutant top was showing off, growling, "You can take more, spread your fucking legs," and Erik pressed in another finger, imaging Charles's weight shoving against him, imagining the unforgiving thickness of a metal cock up his ass, imagining Charles telling him how good it feels to have Erik spread open and desperate.

His fingers tightened as he shot, flecking his own abdomen with come. Shakily, he groaned, pulled his fingers out.

Would Charles keep fucking him? Would he want to do more--tie him down, ride him, want to be tied up himself?

 _Precognition's not one of your skills either, Lensherr_ , Erik thinks, and he rolls off the bed to clean off.

To his annoyance, it was only nine.

 

Waking early--with nothing else to do, he'd fallen asleep around nine-thirty--he roughly jerked himself off again in the shower before heading to work. Dispatch gave him the usual amount of jobs, and he raced through them. He wound up taking on a few of Azazel's usual gigs, after texting and asking if he could--they'd only kept from killing each other by making a few strict rules on courier territory--even if it meant risking Azazel's curiosity.

He made it until four before he actually saw Azazel, who nettled him for a full half-hour to get drinks that night--"something bothers you, we get rid of it"--and he had to admit he was busy.

"Oh, great Lensherr is descended among us mortals, now? Pretty boy stole your heart?"

"Don't you have somewhere to poof off to?" he asked. Unfortunately, given the things he'd said to Azazel after he'd been tamed by Janos, he knows there's not going to be any escaping this.

"Ha. I have somewhere nice to poof off to, yes. Maybe you do now. Whoever you find, he's got poor sense to be waiting for you. Try not to mess it up like last time, you'll run out of masochists eventually."

"Thanks," he said. "I think. Look, I'll braid your hair and gossip about my boyfriend and play My Little Ponies all you like tomorrow. For now, I'm on a job."

Azazel smirked. "Tomorrow then, if you are still able to sit." And before teleporting, he made an annoyed face. "And My Little Ponies are not to be mentioned," he growled, "Already, Janos talks only of this Fluttershy."

 

By seven-thirty, Erik had showered and changed and geared up and took the most scenic route possible to Charles's apartment, and was sitting on his bike in the parking lot outside, considering how early he should knock.

::Eight was your suggestion, not mine,:: he heard suddenly. ::I was ready at six, my dear.::

Erik restrained from sprinting up the stairs. Charles was waiting, leaning in the frame of the apartment's open door, wearing a blue button-up shirt open just enough to show off his collar bone. 

He had freckles there, too.

"Good evening," Charles said, smiling brightly. For a moment, Erik thought of leaning down to kiss him, but by the time he'd finally overcome the indecision he had about it, Charles was already taking the helmet from Erik's hands and leading the way inside.

"Shoes on the mat. Afraid Raven's a bit strict on the matter. She goes about naked half the time and will complain so if she steps on anything. I'd vacuum more, but-- You know, my eyes are up here, should you be wondering."

 _Shit_. Erik blushed and stopped pulling off his boots.

Honesty was probably the best policy, he thought, and he blurted, "You have freckles everywhere, don't you?"

"Hardly," Charles laughed. "Though I imagine you'll find out for yourself."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Too forward, maybe, but Charles had initiated it. He finished putting his boots aside and hung up his jacket, and cleared his throat awkwardly when he turned see Charles watching him.

"Well,” Erik said, uncertain. “Can I have the guided tour?"

Shrugging, Charles said sure, but that he didn't imagine it was much to see. It was much larger than Erik's place, of course; the furniture far less industrial. The living room was lined with bookshelves, the kitchen with an impressive bar. Raven's room was on one end of the apartment, door closed off.

"And down here, you've got the other bathroom and my bedroom," Charles said, waving between two open doors. "And that's it."

Erik glanced in Charles's room. There was already a chessboard set up on a small side table, two chairs flanking.

There was also an uncorked bottle of wine.

"Very nice," Erik said, stepping inside the room. "Live here for a while?"

This room was also stocked with an absurd amount of books. Erik looked at the chairs--two overstuffed leather things, like out of a movie--and then at the bed, neatly made up.

"About two years," Charles said. "Strange we haven't run into each other before."

"Maybe we did," Erik replied. He picked up one of the kings on the chess set. Hardwood. "Sometimes it takes something a little more memorable to really notice another person."

"And if nothing else, demolishing my bicycle certainly was memorable," Charles said. "Can I get you a drink?"

Erik grinned and set the chess piece down.

"Think I'd rather be sober for this.”

"Please, you trounced me last time,” Charles said. “Maybe we should get you properly buzzed, let me win a few."

"I'd still win. But I meant I prefer to be sober for _this_."

Ignoring the chairs, he sat on the edge of Charles's bed.

"Ah."

"I know it's presumptuous. But--let's just pick up where we left off when I decided to be an asshole," Erik said. "We can even scatter the chess pieces over your mattress, if you like."

Charles still stood distressingly close to the door. "Probably best not. I think the less collateral damage, the better," he said.

There was an agonizing stretch of silence. Erik wondered if he'd done the right thing, skipping the drinks.

"I apologize," Charles said. "Look at me. I've not been this nervous since I forgot to tell Gabby until after the third time," he added. Erik wasn't sure if he wanted to know the end of that story, and eventually decided on _probably not_.

"Charles, I know you're not up here," he said, gesturing at his temple, "So I'm forced to tell you. I have to admit that I'm nervous. I tend to blunder my way through these things anyway, and now that I'm here..." he shrugged. There was a reason his sister, his mother, and his few friends called him emotionally constipated. "I just don't want to blunder with you."

"I rather hope not to blunder with you, either, Erik."

 _How can you_ , Erik wondered. _You're perfect._ Charles wasn't reading him, though, so he said again that he wanted Charles. "But I'm not sure that I won't do something stupid," he admitted. "I'm at a bit of a loss with much more than the quick blowjob out behind a bar."

"Your tragically mis-spent youth," Charles joked. He walked forward--finally--and bent to press his lips against Erik's.

For a moment, Erik's frozen. It's just a kiss, he thought; nothing particularly ground-shaking about it. But Charles didn't hold back, the press of his mouth determined and firm. Erik was stunned to have Charles here, much less to have him so enthusiastic. He remembered to react just before Charles pulled away, his confusion and frustration already eddying at the edges of Erik's mind.

Gripping Charles's biceps, he hauled him close, let himself moan against Charles's lovely mouth. ::Finally::, Charles thought at him, and he responded by pulling Charles down against the bed, twining his arms around his back. By the time they broke the kiss, Charles's lips were swollen, even brighter red than usual.

"Wow," Charles said.

"Yeah," Erik responded, just as intelligently. The conversation was awkwardly reminiscent of high school. He let his hand roam over Charles's arm, up over to his shoulder, and basked in the fact that Charles was more forward, one hand already tracing over Erik's lower back.

"Been waiting for this ages," Charles admitted, and he sighed as Erik began mouthing at his neck, impatient. Charles kept roaming his hands over Erik's sides and back. "God, but you're slim."

Erik smirked, and rolled Charles on top of him. The weight of him, the feel of his thighs pressing against Erik's, the welcome feel of his hands exploring Erik's waist--Erik kissed him, wildly.

 _Everything_ , he thought, _let's do everything_. He hadn't been so desperate since he was a teenager. Maybe a little build-up was a good thing.

::Everything? Do tell...::

Against the kiss, he groaned again, and had to break for air. Charles had just sent what was essentially a _bombardment_ of mental pornography, and Erik was dizzy with the sheer amount of creativity Charles kept hidden away.

Looking just as ruffled, Charles grinned down at him, clearly waiting for an answer.

"All of that," Erik said, “for a start.” 

"That's a little ambitious for one night, even for you, darling" Charles said. The endearment wasn't as shocking as it could have been--Erik had heard him use it on plenty of bartenders. Much to Erik's disappointment, Charles drew away to sit at Erik's side. "Tell me what you want _tonight_."

Talking sex over beforehand wasn't something Erik often did. It wasn't outside the realm of his experience--wind up in a leather club, and sometimes you'd negotiate before the main act--but he was used to just letting things... happen. Liberating as it might seem to just be able to say "I'd like your cock up my ass," he was wary of asking. The fact that his brain was still fried by Charles's telepathic porn festival wasn't exactly help his ability to verbalize it, either. 

"Go on," Charles said. "You can say it."

"I don't know what to expect," Erik said; at the same time his brain supplied what he was certain was a very loud transmission of the words _Your cock, please._

Charles grinned.

"I know you're nervous. It's not that different, you know. I can always," he said, waving his fingers next to his temple.

Erik was about to reply--that he knew it wasn't going to be that different, that he'd want Charles even if it were--when a very naked Charles was suddenly pressed up against him. He couldn't help the soft moan of want he made then; he slid hand down the firm warm plane of Charles's shoulder, felt Charles's cock thrust hard against his side. _Yes_ , Erik thought. Finally, Charles was there and eager, and Erik was desperate for it. Only--

He dropped his hands to Charles flat chest, holding him back. "Wait."

Charles--more precisely, Charles's projection--backed off with a rueful grin. 

"Sorry," Charles said. The voice came from the other side of Erik, and he looked between each Charles. While the thought of being with two of them wasn't _unappealing_ , sleeping with a simulacrum on the first night would be unnerving.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable with--" Charles trailed off, gesturing at the projection. Charles's duplicate grinned.

"I'm not," Erik corrected. He reached out to Charles, trying to get him on the bed, to replace the projection. "I prefer the real Charles."

The illusion shifted close again, and Erik backed away, keeping his distance. The projection shook his head before dissipating. "And what if I were the real Charles?"

Blinking at the Charles beside him--the real Charles? the physical Charles?--yet again, Erik found he had no clue what to say. 

"Erik, it's only--" Charles trailed off, looking like he was trying to gather his thoughts. "I've lived long enough in this body to be relatively comfortable with it, for all the imperfections I may perceive. But is it really any more 'me'--any more the real Charles--than anything I could project?"

"I suppose not," Erik admits. “If that's how... you would prefer to--"

"No," Charles interrupted, swinging his leg back over Erik's waist. "I thought it might be more enjoyable for you. But to tell the truth, keeping up that sort of illusion takes energy, and I'd much prefer to keep my attention entirely on _this_."

Charles brushed his hand down over Erik's half-hard cock, and Erik thrust up helplessly under the sensation, his own hands flying up to grip at Charles's sides. He took a steadying breath and asked for a little warning next time.

"You've had years of warning," Charles said, palm running back over the seam of Erik's zipper. He could feel Charles through the metal, and his cock is starting to strain against the sensation. Charles hummed to himself, a small, appreciative noise.

"I am disappointed in you. Hiding something so _lovely_ from me."

"To my defense, I was _sixteen_ ," Erik replied. His own hands stroked down Charles's back--he was warm, the lines of his muscles still evident, but Erik could feel there was some sort of sleek fabric under his shirt--and over his firm ass. He angled himself up and pulled at Charles to initiate another frantic kiss. _And you've been holding out on me, as well_ , he sent, and heard an answering murmur of agreement.

They fell against the bed, necking--Erik thought, much to Charles's amusement when he eavesdropped--like a few teenagers.

::Lost time::, Charles sent, ::but I do believe we have a little more--finesse--than we would have, back then::

"A little" was certainly an understatement, as far as Erik was concerned; but he didn't communicate as much, distracted as he was by running his hands over the outsides of Charles's thighs, by the feel of Charles grinding down against his cock. Though different--no heavy bulge in the front of Charles's trousers, the feeling of Charles's pelvis pressing hard against him--it wasn't any less enjoyable. And Charles, flushed and rocking himself roughly over Erik as they kissed, was obviously just as aroused.

Fully hard now, with the sudden rush of Charles's enthusiasm as he lowered his shielding, any hesitation Erik had left was lost. _Tell me what you like_ , he begged, _anything._ He let his hand stroke firmly up the inside of Charles's thigh, pressed it tight between them.

Under his fingers, Charles was hot, the fabric of his trousers faintly damp. When Charles tilted his hips and moaned, Erik pressed harder, jerked his fingers back and forth. _This--you like my fingers,_ Erik thought.

::You don't need me to tell you,:: Charles sent, rutting hard against Erik. He began pushing up Erik's shirt, his own hands firm on Erik's abdomen and chest--the faintest hint of nails, just as Erik liked, having a telepathic lover really _did_ pay off. Charles asked aloud, "Let me fuck you?"

Erik faltered. "Yes." He sent it telepathically, as well-- _Please, yes_ \--just in case there were any doubt, crooked his fingers hard against the swell he could feel in Charles's pants, rewarding him for the idea. Charles laughed breathlessly.

"Now, don't distract me from it," Charles said. Erik sighed, letting his limbs go lax; Charles having added that he'd need to get up, should the removal of clothing be anywhere in the works.

For a moment after Charles stood, Erik just lay there, watching him cross around the bed to the nightstand on the other side. Clothes rumpled, hair disheveled, Erik thought absently that he could really get used to seeing Charles like this.

::I could get used to seeing you naked::, Charles prodded, smiling down at whatever he had in that drawer. Erik didn't wait up to watch any further. Urgently, he pulled off his clothes, leaving shirt, jeans, boxers and socks in a heap by the bed. When he was stripped, he sat eagerly watching Charles, cock heavy between his thighs.

Charles, meanwhile, had only lost the button-up shirt--which was folded neatly on the bed, Erik noticed--and was standing in what looked like a very tight undershirt. There was a bottle of lube and a dildo on the mattress in front of him.

"You're quick about that," Charles said, sounding vaguely astonished and looking entirely distracted. After a moment, he seemed to shake himself. "Takes me a bit longer. Here, this is the one I usually use for this, but if you'd like something smaller, larger--"

Catching the dildo Charles had just thrown at him, Erik flushed. It was thick, on the large size, though smaller than Erik's cock. The silicone was firm and warm in his hands.

"I'm... not usually given a choice," he eventually said. As he touched it he couldn't help thinking _You have larger than this?_

Charles smirked and opened the drawer again. "Think of it as a secondary mutation," he said, and brought out something made out of black silicone.

Something made out of an _incredibly great deal_ of black silicone.

Perhaps, Erik thought hysterically, enough to have made eight more of the dildo currently in his hands, and anal beads, besides.

"This one's fine," he quickly said. "It's--you said it's the one you're used to, correct?"

"Hypocrite," Charles said. Thankfully, though, he put the giant monstrosity back in the nightstand. "I've one in-between, should you like something more…" he glanced down at Erik's erection.

"Maybe another time," Erik said, mind still on the things hidden in Charles's nightstand. "Why would those come in that size?"

"They come much larger, as well," Charles said, smirking. "I'm sure we'll work you up to the answer, one day."

Despite himself, Erik shivered with arousal at the thought, of _Charles fucking him night after night, stretching him out until he begged for that cock_. He felt Charles in his mind, the warm ::Yes, you do want that, don't you?:: leaving Erik shaky with want.

::Go on and grip the headboard, Erik.::

It was an almost-command, Erik could tell, and he was already up on his knees by the time he could fight it.

"Charles, why--"

"Because this part isn't very enticing, I'm afraid," Charles said. He had his trousers unbuttoned already, and was working on pushing them down his hips.

Looking at him, Erik was strongly disinclined to agree with the assessment. He thought as much, loud as he could. 

"Thank you," Charles said, "for showing me. But it's not entirely about my body."

The half-formed thought of ::…damn binder, crawling out of the stupid thing, always look so silly…:: floated through Erik's mind. 

_I'm sure you look fine_ , he thought, but gave in all the same, turning to grip at the frame of Charles's bed; it was an argument they could have another night.

There was a rustle of clothes behind him, the sound of Charles folding and putting them aside, the erotic pull of something with a few small metal rivets going on over Charles's hips. It took all of Erik's willpower to not turn around before Charles was done. At least, if anything, Erik had plenty of willpower.

When the mattress dipped behind him, however, he had to turn. Thankfully, Charles had just brushed out with his mind and said, "Right, that's better, then."

Whatever Erik had been expecting--it was impossible to measure up to this. Sitting back on his heels, for a moment, Erik could only stare. Charles was obviously not in his head any longer, and was shifting nervously in front of him.

"Much better," Erik murmured in agreement. He tried to push desire against the walls Charles had put up between their minds.

Erik had known Charles's thighs would be muscular, strong--Erik had felt them gripping his sides already--and that his skin would be pale where it wasn't freckled. Somehow, he'd not thought about how lean Charles would be. How, at the same time, he would still seem so appealingly _solid_ , at least in comparison to Erik's ridiculously small waist. The hair on his thighs and trailing up low on his stomach was, like his stubble, dark with the faintest hint of red. The dildo--his cock, Erik's mind instantly corrected--curved up in a hard, impressive arc from the worn black leather of the harness he wore.

It was impossible not to think of his chest as being incongruous, though. The breasts were small, flat, not at all like what Erik--his personal experience with women lacking--had seen in movies or in photos.

But they were still there, and Charles's shoulders were hunched a little. Erik remembered him doing that at Albany, too--unconsciously trying to hide them, even now.

"Come here," he said, voice rough.

::Impatient::, he heard. All the same, Charles shifted close to him, sat up to lean into Erik's touch. Letting his fingers trace the reddened mark left by the binder's seam, running down Charles's side, curving his hands over the rough hair on Charles's legs--Erik could feel Charles's happiness and desire. He had been nervous before, sure. Being naked for the first time with a new person, anyone could get nervous from that. But Erik could see Charles wasn't at all ashamed of his body, even if it was at odds with his brain.

"Complicated, isn't it," Charles murmured against Erik's throat. His own hands were occupied with Erik's backside, Erik arcing into the sensation. _Most things are_ , he thought.

"You know what I mean," Charles insisted. His breath hitched as Erik began mouthing a wet trail from his neck down his sternum, hand circling Charles's cock. "Most people are--oh god--a little put off by breasts and chest hair, at least--you know, given the incidence of bisexuality--at least when on the same body."

"Charles," Erik interrupted, biting gently at his stomach. "Don't insult me with comparisons to 'most people'."

"Ah, yes, I remember now. The Great Magneto," Charles said, and any reference to Erik's geeky childhood dreams of an amazing costumed alter-ego was really grounds for silencing him, by any means possible.

The handiest method he had at the time was swallowing Charles's cock deep, the familiar taste of latex from the condom Charles had already rolled over it sharp against Erik's tongue. He took it nearly to the root, just to show off. Just to hear Charles curse above him.

" _Fuck_ ," Charles hissed. Erik pulled back, suddenly, leaving Charles's cock slick with spit.

"If you would," Erik agreed, the words husky. _Just--never mention that again_ , he thought mostly to himself as he let Charles nudge him back into position against the headboard.

"Hmm. Then you don't want to go cape-shopping with me, I take it?" he said, and usually, Erik would have been perfectly capable of finding a retort. As it was, though, Charles had just stroked a pair of lube-slick fingers down over Erik's hole and perineum, making him jolt from the chill.

"Warn me next time," he complained, but he spread his knees further.

"I'll keep it in mind." Charles worked the slick back and forth, blunt fingers absurdly talented, even when he was just rubbing lazily down over the back of Erik's balls. Erik shifted, impatient.

Charles seemed content to take his damn time, reaching back for more lube and circling firmly around Erik's anus, ignoring the storm of Erik's thoughts. Easily, he held Erik's hips steady when he tried to thrust back and force those fingers in, laughing when Erik cursed him.

When he finally let Erik have them, though--Erik reduced to struggling against Charles's arm and begging--it was worth it. As if to make up for the teasing, Charles pressed in three heavily-lubed fingers at once, let them crook hard against the rim of Erik's ass, stretching him out. Erik's moan was guttural, delirious. Charles's fingers were thick enough that the three of them were a painful stretch when shoved in like that, even with the preparation, and the twinge of discomfort as Charles kept working him open was perfection. He held still, braced against Charles's forearm, and basked in the fact that he was finally getting fucked.

::Known you for years, how did I miss you were so _easy_ ,:: he heard. His cock throbbed, he felt like he'd come any minute. ::Best not, darling. You've still got this to deal with, after all.::

Against the back of Erik's thigh, Charles's cock thrust easily, already slick with lube. Erik nearly whined.

He'd always liked being fucked. But it'd been a long time--years, easily--since he'd been this keyed-up about it. He couldn't remember ever being so aroused, ever feeling so fucked, just from someone's fingers. Erik gave up clutching on the bedframe--his hands were sweaty enough that his grip kept slipping--and braced himself on his forearms. The angle made Charles's cock drag over his inner thigh, and Erik bit against the pillows.

"None of that, my dear," Charles coaxed. He worked his fingertips down to rub tight, firm circles over Erik's prostate. Erik felt himself leaking precome, knew he was marring Charles's sheets. Reluctantly, he turned his head.

"None of what," he moaned out.

Though Charles was far more gentle taking them out than he was thrusting them in, Erik still grunted at the loss. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Charles wiping his fingers carelessly against the sheet.

::No hiding yourself,:: Erik nodded mindlessly in agreement--he would have agreed to anything, right then, as he felt Charles grip tightly at his hipbones, as he waited for Charles's cock. "You asked me before what I'd like. I like," Charles said, voice sounding strained, "to hear you, Erik."

"Okay," Erik panted. He felt the press of Charles's thick cockhead against his hole, twisted his fingers in the bedding. "Okay, okay, just--" his voice broke.

It had been a while since he'd been fucked, and Charles was wide and unyieldingly hard. Erik's breath shuddered out as Charles pushed slowly in, a long glide, his hands sliding up to clutch tight around Erik's waist. When Charles bottomed out--the press of leather hot against Erik's ass--he held steady, letting Erik catch his breath.

::Good?::

Whatever Erik sent back must have been incoherent, as Charles just nuzzled at his shoulder--stubble catching rough against Erik's skin--and murmured that he'd take it for a yes.

Once he could string a few more thoughts together, Erik managed to ask, voice muffled by the pillow, if it was okay for Charles, as well.

In response, Charles pulled out and thrust into him again, nice and slow. "I wonder," he mused.

And he did it again. And again, and soon he was rocking against Erik, his hips moving in a smooth, easy pace. Erik had softened a little when Charles first penetrated him, but now his cock hung heavy and full without a touch.

Charles was _ridiculously_ good at this.

"My own sordid youth," Charles agreed, and his hand curved over Erik's hip, his fingers trailed slowly over the delicate skin beyond Erik's hipbone.

For a moment, Erik thought of begging him _not_ to, that if Charles touched his cock now, he'd come too soon. But Charles's easy thrusts were relentless. The feeling of the metal grommets in his harness pressing against Erik's ass and balls with every thrust, of Charles's thighs warm against his own--it wasn't as if Erik wouldn't come soon, anyway.

And from the way Charles moaned above him, just from getting Erik's cock in hand--well, it wasn't as if Erik could deny him that, either. Charles's fingers dragged rough over the tip, spread the precome to ease his strokes. "Always leak like this?" Charles asked, and Erik moaned and shook his head.

"Flattery, Lensherr?"

"No--" Erik gasped as he heard Charles's thoughts. It wasn't as if he didn't know men thought this often of him, but actually _seeing_ Charles's vivid images of how lovely he thought Erik's cock would be up his ass...

"Just... Just when I'm fucked," he finished, when Charles had finally figured out how to shield himself once more.

"Fairly often, then," Charles said, dismissively. Erik shuddered. Thrusting his hips between Charles's hand and prick, overwhelmed from a month of waiting and the wild unfamiliar pleasure of having sex with a telepath--with _this_ telepath--Erik knew he wouldn't last long. Desperate not to come too soon before Charles, Erik tilted his hips to let Charles fuck him deep, clenched tight against Charles's cock.

He felt Charles gasp and shift behind him, pulling Erik's hips in tighter, pressing in deep and hard. "Yes," he slurred. _Fuck me. Let me feel you come._ , he thought, pushing back on Charles's cock, before he realized--

"No," Charles groaned; Erik felt his body straining, the way the rhythm faltered as he jerked his hips harder against Erik's ass. ::You were right before… nothing to realize…:: Charles sent, the lust in his mind like static. Overloaded already, Erik panted desperately, face pressed tight against the bed as Charles thrust harder. Charles's hand was thoughtlessly still against his cock, now, he was just fucking in like Erik was his to use, and Erik sobbed out a moan, about to come when Charles seemed to fumble against him and, with a sharp breath, shuddered and _stopped._

Feeling Charles grind clumsily through his shivering aftershocks, Erik couldn't exactly be frustrated by the interruption. He rocked back against Charles's cock, waiting for Charles's slack hand to tighten again and knowing he'd shoot soon. Charles shoved deep into him once more, only needed to give him two short firm jerks before he came.

His brain was fried. Again. 

There'd be no restarting it, he mumbled to the pillow. A different pillow, he noticed--apparently he'd been nudged to one side to avoid the wet spot. Charles was warm and heavy, chest pressed against his back.

He was also, Erik noticed with a wince, still hard. 

And he was very much still _buried in Erik's ass._

"Mmm," Charles hummed against his back. "Mmph."

"Your cock is still in my ass," Erik said, not yet sure if he should be perturbed, turned on, or just confused.

"Ah, yes. Like it?"

And Charles was apparently not entirely with him. When Charles gave an experimental roll of his pelvis, Erik drew in a sharp, pained breath, and reached back to still him.

"Not so soon," he groaned. _Has he not heard of a refractory period?_

Charles blushed and stammered through an apology. "Of course, I'm sorry, shall I just--" and he pulled out, gently as possible. Erik flinched anyway, stretched-out and sore.

"Sometime," he promised, easing on to his back and pulling Charles in against his side. It wasn't an idea without potential, waking up with Charles still in him from the previous night, but his body obviously needed a little more time to get accustomed to this. Lazily, he kissed at Charles's bitten lips, reached down to take care of the condom for him.

And--to his surprise--felt Charles thrust against his hand once, before stilling himself and pretending to be properly sated.

"Charles--"

::Sorry, sorry--::

"Wait. You really _don't_ know what a refractory period is, do you?"

Charles frowned at him, but--giving up subtlety as a lost cause--he gave another thrust into Erik's hand. "I _do_ experience them, Erik."

"They're just short," Erik said, curling his hand around the base of Charles's cock and rocking it--and the harness--against Charles's groin. Charles let his legs splay.

"Well--yes, perhaps. Look--"

"How many orgasms can you have in a night?" he wondered aloud, moving again to kneel between Charles's legs. One hand around Charles's cock, he let the other curve back to play with his ass. He almost froze when he felt how slick Charles was, between his legs. "You really did come, just fucking me."

"Course I did," Charles said, smirking. "There's no 'just' about having sex with you, Erik."

 _But,_ Erik thought to himself, and wasn't surprised when Charles interrupted.

"'But this isn't even wired to your nervous system, Charles?'" he said, waving down at his cock, where Erik was still gripping him.

"Not exactly how I'd phrase it."

"I imagine. But the mind's a rather powerful organ, and, ah--" Charles thrust up, under Erik's hands. "And it's not as if the base of that doesn't grind in a rather--sensitive--area."

True, Erik thought, watching Charles reacting so _eagerly._

"Oh, and to your other question--I've found it depends upon circumstance, but I rarely reach the upward limit."

Erik swallowed. A man who can have endless orgasms. Great. He was going to die.

::I've just found such a lovely use for you, though. Thought I'd keep you around,:: Charles thought, grinning at him, reaching up to run a hand over Erik's short-clipped hair. Erik twisted his fingers, pressing against Charles's slick hole, drawing teasing circles as Charles had earlier, smirked as Charles groaned with frustration.

Close as he was, he could smell Charles; the sharp scent of sweat, of sex. Saliva flooded Erik's mouth, and he shifted between Charles's legs.

"Can I suck you?"

"God, you have to ask? I--"

"Without this," Erik said. "I mean, I would like that, too. If you'd prefer," he added in a rush.

As if to steady himself--turned on, or nervous, Erik couldn't tell--Charles drew in a long breath. "Sure," he said, taking his hands off Erik's shoulders to loosen the straps at his own sides. "I think that can be arranged."

Erik drew back a little, watching him. When the straps were undone and he could, Erik pulled at the harness by the grommets. "Show-off," Charles accused, and Erik guided it to rest by the nightstand before returning his full attention to Charles.

Charles had tiled his right thigh a little more, had shifted to make more room for Erik. The smell of sex was heavier, now, Charles was wet from cock to ass. His erection engorged and rising from the thick curls of his hair.

Though he wouldn't personally be able to get it up again for a while, Erik couldn't help making a low noise of want, of appreciation.

Charles pulled at him urgently. ::Please, Erik::

 _Now you know how it feels_ , Erik mentally groused, but he couldn't keep from dragging his fingers up through the slick of Charles's arousal, from thumbing wetly over the small purpled head of his erection.

Charles's lust bombarded his mind.

"Shields," Erik breathed, close up against Charles's cock.

"Yeah. Okay, working on it," Charles panted, before crying out when Erik broke his control again, angling his head down to take in Charles's prick.

At first, he could only concentrate on holding Charles's hips down, on Charles's attempt to get purchase on his short hair. _Rude to thrust like that_ , he thought idly, and Charles accurately replied that anyone could tell Erik loved that kind of treatment. But after a while, he got accustomed to the rhythm Charles seemed to like, figured out how Charles would writhe when he'd press the tip of his tongue up under his foreskin.

He'd tried to imagine what Charles would be like, gone as far as reading about what to expect. Probably, he'd found the wrong websites, but it had all sounded so clinical--shifts of fat deposits, cessation of menses, clitoral growth--and he'd seen enough clinical for one lifetime, back in the testing centers of Chicago and Albany. Maybe it helped a little to know the generalities, to have a vague idea of what Charles had been through.

But there was nothing he could have done to prepare for this, for Charles's hands gripping hard against the back of his head, for one of Charles's legs thrown carelessly heavy over his back, for Charles thrusting underneath him and the swell of Charles's cock in his mouth.

Under his left hand, he felt the muscles of Charles's abdomen clenching, the heavy rise and fall of Charles's panting breath. He quickly figured out that pulling up at the skin over Charles's pelvic bone would expose his cock further, and was taking advantage of the trick when he decided to stop teasing, to slide his right index finger deep into Charles's ass. Out of habit more than any idea of what he was doing, Erik hooked it sharply.

The results were unexpected--at least to Erik--but astonishing. Charles's body clenched hard around Erik's finger, his cock pulsed in Erik's mouth, his back arched, and he came. Wetly.

Very wetly, and Erik tried to catch what he could. Considering he hadn't a clue as to where it all was coming from, though, most of it wound up over his chin and on the sheets, but it wasn't as if those weren't both already a mess.

Gently, he lapped a few more times over Charles's cock, teasing out a few last shivers. Charles's hands were slack, his breath slowly becoming even. After a while, he pushed tiredly at Erik's shoulders.

Sitting up, Erik nudged Charles's hip to get him to scoot over. There was still a bit of bed not covered by come. He dragged the back of a hand over his chin before flopping tiredly against Charles's side.

"Hope that's reaching the upward limit," he murmured. Charles mumbled something unintelligible in agreement and clumsily returned Erik's kiss.

"Ngh," he grumbled intelligently as they pulled apart. He reached up to swipe at his own mouth. At first Erik wondered if he was shy about the come. "Hair," Charles said in explanation before making a face. "I suppose that was a little gauche, for a first date," he said. 

Erik laughed and wrapped his arm over Charles's back.

"Fifteen years too late for you to worry about gauche," he said. Charles was warm on top of him, and Erik felt himself beginning to doze off. Charles yawned and slid a leg between Erik's.

"Hmm. Probably should have warned you about the whole, ah, wet-orgasm-thing. You see, there's this analogous structure--"

"Yeah, figured it out," Erik interrupted, trying to get them in a position where Charles wasn't resting his entire weight on his arm before passing out.

"You're not interested?" Charles asked. He sounded vaguely put-out, as if he'd put a great deal of thought into whatever Erik had cut him off from saying.

"In the orgasm thing? Oh, I'm interested. In the science? You're better off sticking with Hank."

Muffling his laugh against Erik's side, Charles thought ::Wait until you've seen Hank trying to talk about sex.:: Erik could only imagine.

::That's very close, as a matter of fact,:: he heard. Charles's mind felt more blurry against the edges of Erik's, and remembering how they'd share dreams through the walls of Albany, Erik let all his barriers fall open. The happy curl of Charles's consciousness around his own was achingly familiar, something Erik thought he'd lost forever. He was stunned to feel how much more powerful it was, now. 

As deep as he could hide the thought, Erik hoped that this time, Charles would stay. 

Perhaps Charles heard him. It was impossible to tell. Guarding his subconscious was difficult, and their shared dreams were a spiral of always leaving. Of him hurting Charles, or the other way around; of Erik or Charles just giving up and walking away.

Erik woke with a jolt. He felt even more exhausted than when he'd first fallen asleep, and Charles sat up beside him.

"Stay for a game, at least," Charles said.

Erik didn't know if Charles had misinterpreted him, didn't know if Charles had really believed he was getting up to leave. It seemed unlikely.

Ultimately, it didn't matter.

There would probably always be a large part of him that wished he was still young enough to believe in the fiction of a perfect, happy ending. But as uncertain as the future could be, as likely as he'd probably always be to sabotage his own happiness, there was only one answer to Charles's question.

"I will," he promised, "for as many as you'd like."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chancers (the enthusiastic participants remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236522) by [obstinatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix)




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